An Aptitude for Infatuation
by exordia
Summary: [Outside of the court, competitions between high school boys can get pretty messy.] In which a summer talent show quickly morphs into a war between miracles plus their mediocre counterparts, and Furihata Kouki's hand (in a more technical term: his ass) is the grand prize. - akafuri, aofuri, literally everyone/furi


**an aptitude for infatuation**

[-]

[Outside of the court, competitions between high school boys can get pretty messy.]

In which a summer talent show quickly morphs into a war between miracles plus their mediocre counterparts, and Furihata Kouki's hand (in a more technical term: his ass) is the grand prize.

[-]

There's no better way to put it: Furihata's definition of _bad news _spontaneouslyevolves into the sight of basketball players, all sweating from practice and elbowing each other to get through the door. Simply put, none of them get past the to-be stampede.

During the summers, Furihata volunteers at an organization run by one of his mother's friends. He's currently in-charge of the sign-ups and participation fees of an annual talent show. As far as he knows, he completely understands the mechanics of his job.

What he doesn't understand, though, is the fact that some of the best high school basketball teams in Japan are now surging through the doors of the theater reserved for the organization's purposes.

Eventually, he catches a glimpse of Riko thundering through the hordes of players. Furihata closes his eyes in anticipation of her fist, but when he opens them again, he sees Riko bowing before him.

"Furihata," Riko breathlessly says, "I apologize for accidentally telling Kuroko about your involvement with the talent show organizers."

Furihata squirms at the males yanking the sign-up sheets from each other's grasp. He finds—what was his name again, _oh_—Hanamiya Makoto among the crowd kneeing the pineapple guy from Shuutoku to secure the victory of acquiring the last ballpoint pen. "I don't…I don't think I'm catching your drift."

Riko purses her lips for a second. "You know how you always submit a letter of exclusion from specific days of the summer camp to volunteer at this theater?"

"O…kay?"

"Well, I might've slipped a few words about it to Kuroko, and now almost everyone knows that you supervise the talent show. I absolutely have no idea how that led them to think that joining the show _and_ winning would be equivalent to having _you_."

"O…ka—wait _what_?" Furihata sputters, some of his spit landing on Riko's face. He immediately withdraws and adopts the hue of a tomato.

Riko waves him off. "Your teammates and rivals suddenly developed a massive interest in you. I'm beginning to think that basketball is a sport for people who want to come out of the closet in the last minute and vent out their…frustrations to unsuspecting people."

In the background, Nigou is happily barking at Kagami while Kuroko fills out the sign-up sheets for the whole of Seirin. Hyuuga looks oddly content while surveying the interior of the lobby.

"Wait a second," Furihata frantically waves his hands back at Riko, "so you mean you told Kuroko, who asked Seirin to join the show, and somehow the other teams overheard—specifically, the miracles inquired further—and now we have more than a hundred fifty competitors?"

"Beep, wrong," Koganei pops out behind Riko. "Some of the participants are performing as duets, trios, and groups of more than four. Seirin's doing the show as a whole group."

"But you still mean that _everybody_ is after me," Furihata stresses. _Everybody wants my ass _is his internal plight, and he's sure that Riko has that subtext completely covered.

"Pretty much," Riko exhales. "Pubescent boys with their hormones. You know how they are."

"Why me? I've got nothing against myself, but my grand entrance in my high school basketball career involved my adoration for the floor and gravity's efforts to make me kiss it."

"No need for sugarcoating, Furihata," says Riko, who by now is heading for the exit. "Look, summer camps definitely don't quench the boys' thirst for a challenge. There's always a winner and something to be won. Unfortunately, you get to play that part."

Furihata stomps his feet alternately. "But you didn't answer my question, Coach."

"Find out for yourself," Riko sighs sympathetically. "The team is stressing me out, and I don't want to get even more migraines trying to imagine Kirisaki Dai Ichi handling musical instruments and wooing you."

"That won't work, although that's a really great imagination," Kiyoshi chuckles freely before standing up from his seat to pat Furihata's head. Furihata jolts in surprise. How did a huge guy like Kiyoshi appear out of thin air? "We're going to win and take you out on dates. Initially, Fukuda was against it because he wanted to have you all to himself, but we cast votes and all of us were satisfied. At least we have a chance to win with team effort."

"Yeah, take me out on dates without my consent," Furihata restlessly grumbles, sinking down to his seat and hugging the list of participants to his chest. "Great. Really great."

"Don't feel so down about it," Riko says over her shoulder. "I'd love to place bets on who's going to win and who'll perform what, but I have to drag Kuroko and whack him on the head. And Kagami, too, because apparently he's the one who mass-texted your membership in this organization."

"Please do," Furihata only mumbles. "Why would he want to mass-text useless information anyway? I would've understood it if he announced that he and Kuroko were going to get married tomorrow, but it's just me volunteering at the summer talent show. I mean, you've got to be kidding if you say that _that's _interesting."

"…Actually, Furihata-kun," Kuroko murmurs from behind him, sporting a brand new bump on his right temple, "Kagami-kun wanted to invite everybody to the wedding, but we thought it was too early to divulge. After all, we have to win this competition, and only then can we engage in a three-way romance. Correct, Kagami-kun?" Furihata winces at Kuroko's abrupt appearance and the effect of Riko's unleashed fury on his head, but even more so at his bluntness.

"What the hell, Kuroko—_Coach no wait please I'm sorry—_" Kagami breaks into a shriek when Riko yanks his shirt neckline down to her eye level.

Furihata only gapes at the scene until Mitobe places a hand on his shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows noncommittally. After Furihata's moment of confusion, Koganei follows up with, "He says that this would be the perfect time for you to stand in the midst of the ruckus and scream the cliché _Noooo _until the situation fades out."

"I want to kill myself," Furihata buries his face in his hands.

"I don't think you should," Koganei laughs. "You do know why we joined the talent show, don't you?"

[-]

Of all people, Aomine Daiki has the strongest urge to literally sweep Furihata's feet off the floor when the latter squawks at him in the front desk. "You…?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Aomine mumbles, pinching the front of his shirt and fanning himself with it. "I don't know how you can handle the humidity in here."

"Ah, well," Furihata averts his gaze, "I've been working here for years, so…are…are you registering for the talent show?"

"I already had Tetsu do that for me," Aomine drawls. "Besides, I don't need to perform to win."

Furihata chuckles nervously until they lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Aomine speaks again. "Hey, are you feeling warm?"

"…Kind of, but—hey, wait!"

Furihata's reaction time has dulled since the Winter Cup, and it's not his fault when Aomine pulls him up from his chair and smoothly lifts him on his shoulder like a bag of flour. Aomine is careful not to let his grasp slip, but from Furihata's point of view, it seems as if he's going to fall facefirst from a skyscraper. "H-hey, what the heck are you—"

"You said you were warm," Aomine murmurs and eyes Furihata closely. The brunette flushes with the color of a stoplight and turns away. "Ice cream. My treat."

"I never said anything about wanting ice cream," Furihata grinds his teeth.

"It's a date, come on," Aomine says. He's already carrying Furihata out the door when the shorter boy manages to roll down to the floor.

Furihata looks up, obviously suppressing a groan from the impact. "You don't ask people out that way."

Aomine stares at him briefly before replying, "Then _you_ tell me how to do it. I assume you'll say yes."

"Of course not!" Furihata releases an exasperated breath as he stands up and dusts his shirt and jeans off. "I mean…I just don't get why all of you guys are after _me. _I thought you were in love with Kuroko or something—oh, sorry. Touchy subject. Sorry, crap, I just—"

"Cut it out," Aomine exhales, a little irritated. "Don't start sounding like Ryou. Anyway, that was a long time ago, and I don't really give away personal anecdotes for free. Point is, I'm taking you out. Now."

Furihata balls his fists at his sides, already frustrated at his situation. Maybe a lot of girls would kill to be him during his teammates' and rivals' madness. "You can't. I'm not interested in being 'taken out', and to be honest, I have no idea why you're even competing in the show. You guys'…_desire _just came out of nowhere."

"Hm, not really," Aomine slightly cocks his head to the side. "I thought your play during Winter Cup was pretty funny and effective. Pretty impressive, too, I have to say…maybe just a bit flawed and amateur and—"

"I'm not a Miracle," Furihata helplessly says.

Aomine laughs (and Furihata almost thinks it's out of sarcasm or possibly pity). He surprises him when he says, "Well…yeah, you are, in my eyes."

"Ohmy_god_," a shrill female voice from the restroom shrieks. When the noise dies down, Momoi steps out of the lavatory and animatedly strides to Furihata's side. Furihata offers her a confused look, and Aomine shrugs.

"_That_ was the most ridiculous pick-up line I've ever heard, Dai-chan," Momoi giggles. She catches herself and smiles sympathetically when Aomine furrows his eyebrows and mouths, _Knock it off. _"Erm, well, Furihata-kun, we have to get going."

"Yeah, thanks and have a great day…?"

Aomine exits first in embarrassment, leaving Momoi who's currently scrutinizing Furihata. Momoi places a finger under her chin and says, "Hmm, you're not bad."

"Is that a good thing?" Furihata weakly asks.

"I mean, not bad enough for me to say that you're not worth it when the boys on my team are conspiring against each other to win. Dai-chan's gone and cut the strings of Imayoshi's violin—"

"He _plays _the violin?"

"—and Susa threw out all of Wakamatsu's art supplies, which is odd because he never—"

"He's an _artist?_"

"—seemed like someone who'd do it. Basically, Touo's in a mess. Everybody's trying to sabotage each other," Momoi sighs before straightening up and folding her arms over her chest. Furihata has to avoid looking down. "I've been hearing from Riko that it's nearly as bad as it is in the other teams.

"Some sources also say that Yosen's in a pretty bad shape, because they're afraid that the musical prodigies would dominate the show. Shuutoku…Takao-kun's getting the head start, and Midorima-kun is not the least bit amused. Seirin's got the teamwork down, though."

"Yeah, and nobody considers what _I _think," Furihata mutters under his breath.

"Dwell on the brighter side, then!" Momoi pats him on the shoulder, chirps, and turns around. Before she reaches the door, however, she stops in her tracks and looks back. "_If _Seirin wins—but I'm assuming that victory wouldn't come too easily—then you get to have a massive orgy. _If _anybody else does, you still get the reward once. Wouldn't that be great?"

On her way out, she says (mostly to herself), "Hm, basketball players. I really can't trust people who say _no homo _anymore."

Furihata drops to his chair and threads his fingers through his hair, nails nearly digging into his scalp. He almost plunges into an existential crisis and wonders how faceplanting in a match and being a supervisor of the talent show granted him the privilege of being the object of affection of boys who can probably flick him off of the basketball court.

Just when he thinks that he can bask in the silence, the phone rings and startles him.

"…H-hello, Furihata Kouki speaking. How may I help you…?"

[-]

Kirisaki Dai Ichi, sure—maybe. Touo, Furihata could accept (only because the Ryou fellow seemed harmless enough). Yosen, plausible under certain circumstances.

But Rakuzan? _The _Rakuzan?

Unthinkable.

Furihata could only look up at Akashi Seijuuro from the front desk.

"G-good morning, how can I help you….?" Furihata smiles, teeth chattering from his evasion of the captain's gaze.

Akashi slides forward what appears to be a filled-out sign-up sheet with the requirements in a separate envelope. "On behalf of the team, I attained some forms yesterday from a different representative of your organization. My teammates wouldn't be able to participate in the talent show seeing as they're intensively training for the next Winter Cup.

"I was informed of your…involvement in the show. Your substitution into our last match has made quite an impression, and I was interested to see what the other teams' current ruckus was all about," Akashi says. "I don't see why I shouldn't participate."

"You mean to say you're joining for your teammates to best the others?" Furihata asks from the side of his mouth, distracting himself with filing Akashi's documents.

"I apologize for not being clear enough," Akashi replies curtly. When Furihata tries to swipe some of the papers left on the desk, Akashi takes a hold of his wrist and looks him in the eye. "I'm joining for _you_."

Furihata has no choice but to return the gaze directly. Once Akashi releases his wrist, he exhales shakily.

Akashi smiles. "Well?"

"You've submitted the necessary documents…and I'm not the organizer," Furihata quickly makes up for his silence, "but you haven't paid the registration fee yet."

Akashi fishes some bills from his wallet and hands it to a trembling Furihata. The latter fervently nods and takes the payment.

"If you thought that I was competitive during the Winter Cup," Akashi eyes Furihata, "think again. I've set my sights on you ever since, and it just so happens that the others recently did due to the lack of activity during the summer."

"Yeah, and turns out that the activity you all found worth doing was _me,_" Furihata whispers to himself.

"Can you say that again?" Akashi asks with a pointed eyebrow, "I didn't quite catch that."

"N…nothing," Furihata's voice breaks, and he swallows what he feels are his whole oral cavity and his ability to speak. He quietly holds Akashi's participant ID out and hopes that Akashi's fingers wouldn't graze his. He's had enough of unwarranted affection, and the last person that he wants to associate with is Akashi Seijuuro.

Akashi does tenderly touch Furihata's hands, anyway. "I look forward to the competition."

"Okay," Furihata replies in loss of what to say.

Akashi intently gazes at him as if poring over his ridiculously average features, until he finds his scrutiny sufficient. He blinks and pockets his ID. "About Daiki…I've been informed that he tossed you over his shoulder without your permission."

_Yeah, as if any of this was influenced by my own discretion, _Furihata muses.

"Don't worry; the matter is already taken care of," Akashi's lips curve. "I hope you get some rest. I've contacted the organization and they've agreed to letting you finish your shift earlier today. There might've been chaos all-day long around your workplace, and I understand how difficult it is to maintain your sanity in the midst of barbaric, love-drunk…dimwits. I'm afraid there's no more appropriate term."

Furihata, on impulse, would stutter his gratitude out, and Akashi was right when he advised him to clock out early due to the unnecessary disturbances. He manages to catch that one detail that he could've missed if he just focused on the fact that Akashi did him a favor. "You _talked _to my higher-ups?"

"Why, yes," Akashi replies and widens his smile. It makes Furihata flinch. "My father's corporation often provides funding for some small organizations, and it just so happens that the one you work with belongs to a group of organizations that he's interested in advocating for."

Furihata's jaw goes slack. "Are you freaking kidding me."

"As it turns out," Akashi says, "no. So you can go ahead and go home, if you'd like. There's someone who will take over the remaining hours of your shift."

"I don't…I don't need you doing this for me, though," Furihata admits, his lower lip as good as chewed gum. "It'd be easier for all of us if this just stopped. I mean, I've been trying to avoid or maybe _cope _with it, but there's nothing I can do when every day there's a new player trying to take me out on a date to McDonald's."

"How classy," Akashi comments, and soon after he regains his composure and clears his throat. "Hm, think of all the preparations they've made, though—but I'm convinced that none of them would be worthy."

"Yeah—I, I mean, I appreciate the thought but everything was just uncalled for," Furihata says. "So, knowing you're _the _Akashi Seijuuro—I think you could tell them what I've been trying to, because never in a million years would they listen to me."

Akashi has to laugh. "I'm _the _Akashi Seijuuro you're speaking of, and I'm listening to you."

Furihata returns his gaze expectantly.

"Very well then," Akashi says in resignation, and Furihata immediately hands him his money back only to be waved off. "No need for refunds. I'll relay the message to the rest of the teams."

"Thank you," Furihata breathes a sigh of relief and presses his cheek on his desk.

Only then does he realize: the majority of the participants in the talent show will withdraw, and the organization won't meet its profit goals.

Problem solved—there's Akashi and his heritage. To put it more nicely, there's Akashi and his rich-ass father who seems to be involved in everything. It's just his luck that this organization is part of his commitments.

Furihata doesn't usually take advantage of wealth, but with all the migraines he's been having lately, he might as well discourage his fellow basketball players from pursuing any romantic interest they may have in him.

Akashi turns on his heel and doesn't say another word.

[-]

All of the mental issues and hormonal haywires everyone previously had seem to have been resolved after two weeks. Furihata has more leeway to attend the summer camp, and it comes off as a surprise when nobody bothers him about 'his really great eyes and stance' and 'how he would like to go out after practice'. Really, it's as if his teammates were hit with a love-potion infested brick of some sort.

Riko sits beside him on the bench while the starting players warm up. "You look pretty rough today. Not as awful as you looked two weeks ago, though."

"I guess," Furihata takes a swig of water and sighs. "All thanks to Akashi for making everyone back off."

"You shouldn't really be that grateful," Riko advises him, feeling sorry at the thought of Furihata crossing paths with Akashi. "Maybe he's just using this opportunity to scare everyone so he could have you all to himself."

"Been reading BL again, Coach?" Furihata grins.

Riko elbows him in the ribs and huffs. "No, my imagination isn't _that _wild, thank you very much. But it's Akashi Seijuuro. There's always a reason behind everything he does."

"Maybe he just wanted to help someone less fortunate…?"

"Or maybe he wanted to not spare all of the fuss of competitions and directly trap you from the start," Riko suggests.

Furihata flashes a thumbs-up. "Sounds like something out of shounen-ai."

When Riko is finished with decorating Furihata's face with purples and greens, she spits out, "How would _you _know?"

Furihata moves his lips as a test and finds it painful to even move his jaw. "A-actually, I don't. Momoi-san has been dropping hints of being in yaoi-verse or something and I kind of latched on to what she was saying."

"But still—"

Both Riko and Furihata fall out of their seat when an explosion rips the gym's door from its hinges and sends portions of the wall over their heads. Some of the players have sustained minor injuries, but other than that, nobody is on the brink of death.

Furihata gets up from the rubble, coughing, and helps Riko up. He hears Kagami swearing in a different language.

Kuroko, on the other hand, walks over to the site of the small blast and takes up an expression of disapproval. "Akashi-kun, you really shouldn't have gone that far."

Furihata widens his eyes when Akashi emerges from the dust. He's wearing a smile that's ten thousand times creepier than the usual. "Akashi…?"

"Well, Kouki," Akashi starts, dusting off the residue on his clothes. "Security wouldn't let me get past, so I had to resort to other methods. This is actually one of my talents that I reserved for the show in case some basketball players remained hard-headed and continued with their participation."

He grins, and Furihata can sense the tingle at the base of his spine that seems to warn him of an upcoming apocalypse. "I'm quite excellent at Chemistry myself," Akashi adds.

Furihata swallows. "Uh…"

"I have more talents which, I would presume, you'd rather witness in private," Akashi says bluntly and secures his grasp on Furihata's wrist. "Rest assured, I'm capable of doing _more _than what you're currently sporting on your face."

Furihata stumbles after him when he makes his way to his custom-made entrance. Riko stares open-mouthed. Kuroko is disappointed. Kagami is still cussing in English. Everybody else is plotting revenge.

And Furihata—well, he certainly didn't think that his definition of bad news would get redefined just when things were beginning to look a bit better.

Whoever just hit Akashi with the hypothetical brick generously doused with love potion is going to _pay_.

…Maybe after he gets back from whatever performance Akashi is going to give him.


End file.
